


In the realms of the Endless

by Eilisande



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Crossover, F/M, Gen, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2020-02-26 20:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18724231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eilisande/pseuds/Eilisande
Summary: In their lives, everyone goes through the realms of the Seven Eternals, Destiny, Death, Dream, Destruction, Desire, Despair and Delirium. Some, however, linger more particularly in some of their realms, for their misfortune or their happiness.There is no need to know Sandman to follow this story.





	1. 1 : Jack/Delirium : On the beach, abandonned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of one of my fanfictions, exploring the relations between Pirates of the Caribbean characters and the Endless.   
> Reviews are welcomed

The man was walking on the deserted beach, throwing his arms around, talking to himself. He was dressed in thin linen trousers, a torn and wet shirt that was beginning to dry under the tropical sun and a big hat with flashy trinkets hanging on it. He was barefoot, but he did not seem to care about the burns caused by the hot sand. He just walked, sometimes murmuring, sometimes screaming desperate curses. He was not trying to protect himself in the shade of the few palms that grew on the desolate island but contemplated the ship disappearing on the horizon.

His eyes were haggard. When the ship disappeared, a spark went out in his eyes. At that moment, he could have succumbed to despair and let himself go at the mercy of the waves or collapse on the beach and wait for the sun to wither and kill him. It was his ship that disappeared forever from his sight. The ship he had so much trouble winning, for which he had made a deal with Davy Jones himself. The Black Pearl, his soul, his love. The only life he had ever wanted.

When there was not even a black dot on the horizon, he fell into the sand, head first, as if struck by a stroke. The sun reached and passed its zenith but he didn't move. Finally, after hours of immobility, he managed to move a shaking hand and a haggard face. His mouth was cracked and full of sand. He uttered a pitiful moan, almost a rattle, before falling back, defeated. Finally, the heat of the sun on his neck made him roll on himself and he stared at the top of the near palm trees with an empty expression. He ran his tongue over his dry lips, not caring about the sand he swallowed. From his lips escaped a new rattle, disillusioned and hysterical at the same time. He ended up lifting a tired arm to protect his eyes from the glare of the sun.

 

Prisoner of his sorrow, he did not hear them approaching. Three, maybe four women stood there on the supposedly deserted island. The smallest girl, dressed in scarlet clothes and with multicoloured hair, floated in the wake of an invisible wind. She pointed out the castaway.

"It's him. It's him."

"Jack Sparrow," named him the second woman, thin silhouette dressed in black.

The third, a small obese woman whose nudity was partially covered by voodoo tattoos,

groaned in pain and scraped herself to the blood.

"He suffers, oh, how much he suffers, he has nothing left."

"And his desires..." shuddered the last person with a throaty laugh. "Oh, that's interesting."

He or she leaned to brush his cheek with two bare fingers. Jack Sparrow remained as motionless as a corpse. He was oblivious but he had draw the gaze of four of the Eternals.

There are men who would kill to attract the attention of one of the Seven Eternals and become his favourite. Men and women use voodoo or satanism to address the powers of this world, others kill to call Death to them and beg her to let them serve her for a longer life. Death never answers, of course. She values life too much to love those who waste it. Others beg Lord Morpheus to give them sweet dreams, and Desire is constantly solicited by humans guided by their desires. But most of the Eternals' chosen never asked for anything, and most would prefer they never attracted their attention, for it is a cruel gift. How many would rather kill each other than live under their power? And who would say they're wrong ?

Fortunately for him, Jack Sparrow was totally unaware of their presence. Besides, if he had seen them, perhaps he would have given the same indifference to everything that was not the Pearl.

"No," fussed Delirium seeing her brother/sister touching him.

The sole response of Desire was to scratch the pirate's cheek, laughing again. Only a look from the oldest one prevented him/her to continue. He/she straightened up with studied indolence.

"Explain what you want, dear sister," Death said. "Why did you bring us here? This man's last hour hasn't come yet. He has many years ahead of him, maybe even an infinity of years if he gets what he hopes for."

Hearing her sister talking, Delirium, who was floating next to her, rolled over and looked down at her. The tongue between her teeth, she thought intensely. Desire held back a mocking laugh.

"I wanted ... I thought ... Do you think that smilodon is a pretty word?"

"Yes."  
"That night, I dreamed that fish caught humans and changed them into rainbows," she said dreamily. "Except that the rainbows were honey and gingerbread and not flesh and that solid and white thing that men have inside them."

"Bones."  
"No, not bones. It's not a beautiful word. Syringe is a beautiful word and chamomile and sparrow too. His name is Sparrow. Sparrow. I love birds. They fly, except when someone pulls their wings off. I was a bird once, and my wings were torn off, and I fell, fell, fell into the sky. Those who did this to me, I made them believe that they had a june bug that pushed them in their head. But it was not true. Or maybe it was?"

"Maybe. Did you want to tell us something else?"

"Yes. I saw him," Delirium insisted in a serious voice before creating multicoloured bubbles in the form of crabs. "Jack is mine. The Sparrow. I want him to be mine and no one else. Because he's like me and he hides a word."

"A word?" Desire repeated ironically.

"I have it at the end of the tongue. A very big word that leaves a bad taste in the mouth."

"I do not know what you are looking for. Now, if you allow, I have better things to do. Don't you have a domain to manage?"

Delirium frowned.

"Yes, that's it. That's the word. Responsibility. He does not want it, and I want to keep him for myself. I want to play with him, and make him think of pleasant things. I do not want you to touch him, neither Dream or Desire, nobody. I want him to be mine. So I decided that I had to do things well and I bathed in sacred chocolate and I thought about it and I decided that I had to tell you, then I forgot, then I remembered again and I called you."

Despair sighed and got closer to the fallen pirate.

"He is not mine," she said in a voice that was astonished. "He could have been, he should be, he lost everything, but he is not desperate. Pity."

She looked at him a few more moments and then sighed again.

"I must leave you, sisters. "There is a prostitute in the streets of London who calls me. A man spat on her and she now she does not have a long time before the customers turn away from her. There is an epidemic of malaria and famine in Sudan. People cry, scream and kill each other to eat. My place is there."

The little obese woman disappeared, and the atmosphere seemed to warm up. Desire shrugged.

"He wants a lot of things, this man. The immortality, the rum, the warm thighs of Tortuga's whores. People's gratitude. I could play him like Orpheus played his lyre."

"Really?" Questioned Death, and Delirium's assurance broke.

"He wants all this and more. Yet ... He is not mine. I do not understand."

Death smiled at her and her gaze proclaimed that she knew the truth, so many truths inaccessible to her brother/sister.

"It's because they are more complex than you want to admit."

Desire chuckled and disappeared. Delirium turned to the last of her sisters.

"Can you leave him to me? And ask the others to leave him to me? That way he will not be alone and neither will I be alone when I am alone. Well. You know."

Death stared at her little sister with compassion.

"He's yours Delirium," she said softly. "No one will take him from you until he dies, if he dies one day. You know I cannot promise you anything more."

Her gaze went distant as she felt the crew of a slave ship die under the blows of the "ebony wood" it was carrying. Slaves fought with the energy of those who know they will die, no matter what. Duty called her. She faded into the landscape.

Delirium remained alone with Jack Sparrow. He had sat up during their conversation and remained frozen again, his gaze fixed on the horizon. She put one foot on the sand and clung to his arm without him noticing.

"You are mine," she said tenderly to the pirate. "My sister said it, and the others will listen to her. We will never leave each other again. Except when I'm somewhere else or thinking I'm a flying fish with a house on my back flying in the ground. It happened to me already, and it was not. Sad. Or fun? I do not know anymore. Do you love me a little bit? "

She stood on tiptoe and laid a small, wet kiss on the pirate's cheek, leaving the purple trace of her lipstick. Jack Sparrow jumped and put his hand to his cheek. He looked down at Delirium and smiled at her, briefly noticing her existence, before looking back at the horizon. From now on, a new spark dwelt in his eyes, a spark of both light and furious madness. He finally looked away, and Delirium handed him the gun with a single bullet inside that Jack had dropped when he reached the shore. Jack grabbed it and laughed.

"This bullet is for you Barbossa," he whispered. "And now, I'm going to leave this place, even if for that I have to chain myself to sea turtles with the hairs on my back."

He turned around and contemplated the deserted island.

"Well, sailor! Let's see the stock of the resources before declaring it's time to abandon the ship. Is it me or does it smell like rum?"

 

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A few years later, on the deck of a ship stolen from the British Navy in Port Royal, Will Turner and Mr. Gibbs watched Jack pacing the deck looking at a compass that did not indicate the north.

"He's a little ... crazy, no?" Will finally declare, embarrassed to see the pirate behave like he was drunk.

"Oh yes," said Mr. Gibbs emphatically and with respect. “But do not say it too loudly. It could catch her attention. And you do not want her to be interested in you.”

"Who?"

“The one which made Jack mad. Quiet !"

Will did not understand. Who was this woman whose the old sailor spoke with fear and respect? He turned to observe Jack. The man sent a kiss to the mainmast of the ship, while continuing to turn around himself. Following his gaze, Will thought he saw green and blonde hair shine in the sun before disappearing in a laugh.

 

 

 


	2. Calypso-Dream : Dreams of pasts long gone

The night has taken possession of the jungle, but there is still a suffocating wetness in the air. Above the river, mosquitoes begin a frantic dance with fireflies. Summer has settled with unusual cruelty on the Caribbean islands. Crocodiles, monkeys, parrots, prey and predators slowly move on the beach and trees. They're all tired. All seek to save their strength and aspire only to find a cool place to collapse before the morning heat makes the air unbreathable again. Not a breath of wind agitates the trees and the silence of the night is disturbed only by the sizzling of the insects and the occasional cry of a child rendered angered by the lack of sleep.

None of the log cabins bordering the river is illuminated as usual. The atmosphere is too hot for their inhabitants to add the warmth of a flame. The runaway slaves who reside on the island, who came to seek the protective shade of the mistress of the island, took refuge in hammocks in the shade of trees and porches to try to sleep for a few hours.

Far away from all the other houses built on stilts, in the meander of the river, the house of Tia Dalma is also plunged into darkness. All the doors and windows are open, in a desperate hope that the sea air penetrates there, brought by the wind.

Usually, she prefers to barricade herself in her den to avoid inadvertently sniffing the smell of the ocean. Despite her desire to get back to the sea, to breathe it by all her pores, Tia Dalma rejects it most of the time. The proximity is painful, physically and mentally. The cabin is boded by exotic and heavy smells. Camphor, cloves, spiced rum, dried bird droppings, entrails and dried up viscera, incense and potions with a heady perfume ... all are there for one reason only: to keep the memory of the sea away. However, when there is a dead calm in the air, the being in a human form is yearning for what she once was.

 

Tonight, Tia Dalma stands on her doorstep, darting her fiery gaze through the trees and rocks, right towards the sea. She feels her heart beat to the rhythm of the tide and the waves that graze the beach, languid.

How many years has she been exiled? She does not dare to measure it. It would be unreasonable to count every second of torment that causes her to be incomplete, cut off of herself.  
Tia Dalma takes off silently. Keeping a hand on the guardrail, she goes down the stairs and after a moment's hesitation, slips her left foot into the water. She closes her eyes and listens to her veins responding to the slow flow of water around her foot. Mentally, she follows every drop of water on its journey to the ocean. The water is hot on the surface but seems icy in comparison with the air.

From her lips escapes a half-sung, half-chanted lament. It has been thousands of years since this language was spoken, but she knows every intonation by heart. It's the song of the first men daring to assemble tree trunks to cross a sea arm. It implores pity and protection. Of all that has been written or sung about the cruelty and splendour of the sea, it's the work that Tia Dalma prefers.

While she sings with her hoarse voice, the witch leans over and lets her hand dive into the water. A tiny fish brushes her dirty fingers and her hand closes around the poor animal like a claw. She cuts his tail, gobbles his body and tears his head with her teeth before spitting it in his hand. She goes up the stairs, her song turning into an incantation even older than the first men. When she reaches her door, she tears off one of the snake tails nailed to the wall. She throws the tail and the head in a copper plate, adds a few drops of a mixture of ingredients known to her alone, a ribbon of her dress, saffron, the bone of a dead child and the bone of a monkey killed in its sleep. A black candle is lit and placed with one hand in the centre of the plate, while Tia Dalma's other hand makes passes over the flame. A sweet and sickening smell spread in the room.

"Come to me," whispers Tia Dalma, hauntingly. "Hear me, and come to my prayer, Lord of Dreams. "

Nothing happens. The witch sighs and stifles the candle with her fingers, relishing the pain and smell of burnt flesh. She turns to return to her contemplation of the water when a shadow grabs her by the arm.

"I do not like being summoned," said the shadow in a voice soft and grave, full of menace.

"This was not a summons Lord of Dreams," Tia Dalma answers, coming closer to him while talking a seductive voice. "Just an invitation."

"An invitation made with children's toys."

"I beg your pardon if you think I have disrespected you, O Lord. But the voodoo, the Macumba, all these rituals have their utility and their nobility. "

The moonlight enters through the open door and illuminates the body and face of the visitor whose only response is a disdainful silence. Tia Dalma takes the opportunity to observe him.

He is taller than her, and thin, so thin that he could be mistaken for one of the escaped slaves who populate the island. His skin is an ebony brown and his hair falls in thick mats to his chest. He wears a loincloth, wooden jewellery on his wrists, a small bag at his waist and tattoos on his forehead and ribs. A cloak darker than the darkest night falls from his shoulders to the floor. On his bare chest, a ruby shines with an unreal glow. In his eyes, Tia Dalma sees endless stars and darkness. He is handsome, in his own way.

  
"Thank you for coming, Morpheus," said Tia Dalma, satisfied with what she sees.  
"I came only out of curiosity Mami Wata," he answers. "Certainly not because of your little spells."  
Tia Dalma startles hearing that name. Morphee frowns.

"Do you prefer Calypso? Or..."

"Tia Dalma. They call me Tia Dalma these days. "

The witch's smile has disappeared, but resurfaces quickly, a little forced. The moment of negotiations has arrived.

"You were once powerful, Tia Dalma," Morpheus notes indifferently. "But why should I answer your call today?"

"You said it yourself Lord of Dreams. Out of curiosity."

"What do you want?"

"I beg you for a gift. My exile is long and my trouble is great. Give me a dream. I want to dream of old times when I was the sea. I want to be myself, even for a moment, even in a dream."

"And what would you offer me in exchange? "

Tia Dalma smiles. The Lord of Dreams is the most malleable of the Eternals. He often answers the wishes of dreamers, but his prices are expensive. Fortunately, the ancient goddess knows his weaknesses. She carries her hands to his shoulders, and with a slow gesture removes her dress, revealing her nakedness. Only her hair and jewellery now cover her. The King of Dreams caresses her with his eyes, but no flame lights up in the hollow of her eyes.

"Do you think it's so easy to win my favours?" He asks coldly.

"Certainly not," replied Tia Dalma, brushing the cheek of the Eternal with a tattooed hand. Can't you just please me?"

"I do not like your games."

"I'm the sea! What other behaviour do you expect from me, my Lord?"

He does not answer, too busy contemplating her nakedness. Tia Dalma knows herself beautiful and desirable. But her true seduction lies in his voice.

"I have nothing to offer you other than my body if you want it Morpheus," she whispers in his ear. "It is only a foretaste of my gratitude, but I do not give myself to anyone for favours. You can believe me. My body and my magic are all that I have today, and I only offer them to whoever I want. But one day ... One day I will become myself again, I will be the ocean and each of its waves. What will be my gratitude then for the one who will have offered me a moment of respite in my suffering?"  
"A service. You offer me a service," finally understand Morpheus, and Tia Dalma hides her amusement at the slow-wittedness of the King of Dreams.

"A favour, refundable at any time, whatever it is, except the abandonment of my marine kingdom. What do you say, Lord of the Night?"

Morpheus's gaze leaves Tia Dalma's curves to plunge into her eyes, mortally serious.  
"Do not think I'll forget the favour you owe me," he says. "I'll ask for it, sooner or later."

"I should hope so."

"Perhaps I will also accept your proposal to share your bed. But I'm called elsewhere tonight. Enjoy this dream as often as you want. "

The hand of the Dream King disappears into his cloak and pulls out a vial of glass. He opens the purse at his belt and lets some grains of sands flow into the vial that closes immediately. He disappears in the shadow of the stairs.

  
The woman who had been a goddess raises the vial at eye level and watches the grains of sand wave inside. Still naked, she enters her room and lies down in her bed. She opens the flask for a second and carries it to her nose, sniffing the smell of sand, salt water and fermented banana. She only has time to close the Morpheus present before falling asleep.

In her dream, she is a wave that falls in continuous and violent rolls on the rocks of Normandy. She is a gentle wave on a golden sand beach in Singapore. She is the rain falling on a pirogue of the South Seas. Tia Dalma is everywhere at the same time and her pulse beats to that of the silver orb above her. Mami Wata laughs, and her laugh resounds like thunder in the immensity of the ocean.

Calypso dreams of herself, waiting for the Lords of the Seven Seas to free her from her curse.

 


	3. Elizabeth/Death : Like a flapping of wings

Sitting in her narrow cabin on the Chinese junk, Elizabeth stared through the small porthole at the flashing lights of the dead boats passing by the ship before departing forever. At least, she was not crying anymore. To be fair, she had no tears left.

Outside the cabin, Will pounded at the door. But Elizabeth did nothing, not even said she heard him. What for? It was the fifth time he pleaded for her to open the door. She knew in advance what he would say if she deigned to stand up and unlock the lock. He would fall to his knees or take her in his arms, caress her hair, whisper to her how much he loved her, and beg her not to let her father's death destroy her.

It would not change anything. Her father's soul sailed on the oceans, going... who knew where? After battling the undead pirates, the Kraken and contemplating the horror that was Davy Jones, it was hard to still believe in Heaven and Hell. Elizabeth believed in God, but she was no longer sure of everything else. Fragments of the pirate song rose to her lips.

_ Some men have died, and some are alive _

_ And others sail on the sea _

She had hummed that air so often, the last time on a small boat in the Singapore canals. She had never really thought about it. What did these verses mean? What mysteries were hiding behind them?

On the table next to Elizabeth was a flask. It was filled with that strange alcohol that the Chinese had boarded with them. The young woman imagined that it would work just as well as rum to forget, at least for a few hours, that Beckett had killed his father and that she had failed to save him. The first sip burned her throat. The drink had a horrible taste, even bitter than rum. Elizabeth could not understand what men found with those fool alcohols. Sure, they could get drunk to the point of losing all reason and memory, but you always woke up from drunkenness. She knew that was the goal, but all the same, it seemed to her that the price was too expensive to pay for a few hours without pain.

Nevertheless, the young woman swallowed a second sip, wincing. Will whispered something through the door, and she poured some more of the alcohol into her mouth in a few minutes. When she reached half of the flask, Will had finally stopped his attempt. The young man had to give up and go back on deck to see how went their quest. Elizabeth sighed. Obviously, what she had drunk was not enough to distract her thoughts from her father and Jack. She brought the flask to her mouth again. As she brushed it against her lips, a hand, as white as the whitest perl, took it gently but firmly and put it back on the table. Sitting opposite Elizabeth was a young woman with long black hair descending in wild curls along her thin, white face. She was dressed in a long black velvet dress in the latest fashion, except that the front of the dress turned up revealed long thin legs in trousers and black boots more fit for a man. On her chest shone a silver jewel, a symbol of some sort.

Elizabeth jumped and grabbed a pistol she had put on her belt. She had not seen this woman enter the room, and she knew very well that she was the only woman aboard the junk.

"Who are you, and how did you get on board?" She asked in a hard voice but lessened by the fact that the alcohol had already made her tongue sticky.

"You know who I am, Elizabeth Turner," said the young woman, smiling fondly.

Elizabeth's first move was to deny any knowledge of this woman, but she stopped to think. There was something familiar about her smile and features.

"I've seen you before," she frowned, then whispered. "But where?"

The woman's smile widened, and Elizabeth thought she heard a flapping of wings.

"I was there the day your mother died when you were a child. I was next to Will on his raft the day you found him, waiting with him for help or for the end. I was in your father company yesterday while he was dying on the rock where Beckett had left him to get rid of him. I was..."

"Shut up," Elizabeth whispered. "Have mercy on me."

She knew who this woman was now. It was Death. She could not even have the strength to be scared or angry at her. She let herself fall back into her chair, her head in her hands. The alcohol was starting to have an effect on her. However, she thought she was not drunk enough to face the strangeness of the situation.

Death laughed softly. That laugh was filled with sadness and joy and was both very old and very young. Elizabeth lifted her head. Her eyes met those of the young woman sitting in front of her. They were filled with millennials of compassion. The woman handed her a crystal glass, filled with water.

"You've had enough alcohol, Lizzie. Do not hurt yourself."

"You're not my mother to tell me what to do," Elizabeth replied while taking the drink.

She emptied it then whitened, realizing that she had just rebuffed Death in person. Alcohol gave her the assurance needed to do what no one had ever dared to do. But Death did not seem to care.

"No, it's true," she replied. But I know what it is to want to forget and regret the price to pay the next day."

"As if you knew. You are Death."

"And so I am forbidden from having loved ones?" Death asked sadly. "I lost a sister, I lost friends. I have seen people die who did not deserve it, and I have seen people who deserved to die instead survive almost forever. I do not kill people, Lizzie. I'm just helping them to get to the other side."

"My father ... Did he suffer?"

"Yes. "

Elizabeth started to cry. Death did not try to console her, she only let her cry until she had no more tears left. The young woman kept her head down a long time, ruminating her thoughts. Around them, Elizabeth felt the boat moving on a fast, irresistible current. She doubted they could turn back now, even if they tried with all their might. Above their heads, on the deck, she heard the muffled voices of Barbossa and Will.

When she looked up, Death handed her a cup of tea. Elizabeth took it mechanically and brought it to her lips. The taste was impossible, and Elizabeth pulled the cup from her lips to look at it in disbelief. It was the exact taste of the tea served by his mother to her guests in London so long ago. When she was a child, Elizabeth was permitted to taste a few drops, a few days before her mother's death. Never had she drunk something so good, and she had never found such an exquisite tea.

Death smiled at her.

" How did you do that?"

"Memories never really die. For someone like me, it's easy to conjure one.  
"That makes no sense. This is real tea, not something imaginary."

"Reality and imagination are much closer than you think. Are not you sailing beyond the world, to kingdoms that you should not have access to, at least not while you still breath?"

"Do you mean we're sailing to hell? The Hades?"

"You're going to my kingdoms, but you can call them that. I am here to help you to pass the doors. Even Captain Barbossa's knowledge and experience would not be enough to help you to the other side."

"And to come back? Will you help us too?"

"No," said Death firmly. "Mortals must find their way back alone, and it must be their choice to return. This is something that even I can not change."

"Like Orpheus with Eurydice? "

Death nodded. After that, Elizabeth remained silent and began to sip her cup of tea again. At her side, her companion was looking straight ahead, her eyes fixing something invisible. Elizabeth felt the ship accelerate, almost imperceptibly at first. At the small window of the cabin, the frost began to take strange shapes, and ice cliffs swept past, like gigantic white shadows or ghosts. At the end of this scary path, Jack was waiting for them.

"Jack," Elizabeth whispered. "Dad. How many men must die because of me?"

Death looked back at the young woman. She frowned slightly.

"Humans sometimes say that some people sow death on their way. Women especially."

"Is it true? Am I sowing death?"

"No. But ... the dead are numerous in your wake. And there will be more."

Elizabeth's face broke down.

"Will ?", she whispered and prayed that it was not.

Death shook her head.

"Perhaps. I do not know, and if I knew? I would not tell. That kind of knowledge is not made for mortals."

Death's gaze settled on the wall as if she saw through it. Till then, her smile was amused, sometimes mocking, sometimes loving during their conversation. But there was only sadness on her face now.

"Jack, Will and you ... You are tangled in something dangerous. And you will all pay the price. I'm not Destiny, but even I know that none of you will get what they want, at least not the way they wanted."

"What do you mean?"

"The Dutchman must have a captain," said Death enigmatically. "You do not sow death on your path, it is destiny that is trying to fill a void. You have only hastened things without knowing it, but others than you will pay the price. And I will be there to welcome them to my domains."

Gasping, Elizabeth watched the woman get up and open the door. Without a word, she invited her to follow her. Elizabeth put her cup of tea on the table and watched it evaporate into smoke. No doubt she should have worried about it, but she just put back on her coat and followed Death on the frozen deck of the ship negotiating its way between the icebergs. Death passed between the sailors to join the bow of the junk. She remained there, motionless.

Around her, the crew acted as if she weren't there. Elizabeth shuddered, from fear rather than cold, and moved closer to Will. He did not hug her, just staring at her sadly as he did since Jack's death. Yet for the first time since then, his presence alone comforted her. She smiled weakly to reassure him and then turned her gaze back to the bow.

Death had disappeared. An aurora borealis began to shine, and Elizabeth thought she saw a door open and close behind them with a flapping sound of wings.

They plunged into the unknown.

 


	4. Norrington - Desire : Three acts

_**4/ Norrington/Desire : Three acts** _

  


_First act_

Summer in the Caribbean comes, with the usual dampness and heat that stuns men and animals. Rich or poor, slave or free man, everyone tries to do as little as possible until the sunset. Eyes rise to the sky again and again, like a silent prayer for a breath of air, a single drop of rain.  
You would have to go to the port to find some sort of activity. The fishermen come and go in the harbour, sighing because they know that this time is not good for fishing. They go anyway. On the Royal Navy's ships, the carpenters make the necessary repairs to face the next storms and go back on the pirates' hunt. Some soldiers and sailors do chores, cursing the fate that designated them when their comrades can rest. Apathy is evident in each of these men and women gesture.

Suddenly, the pure and sincere laugh of a young woman rings on the dock. All eyes are turned to her. For the workers, it's like a breath of fresh air that wakes them up. Dozens of looks examine the girl and follow her.

She's beautiful in her rich new dress. She's barely out of adolescence, but everyone can see the beautiful woman she will soon be. Her fair hair falls in neat curls around her porcelain doll face. An umbrella protects her complexion from the harsh Caribbean sun. The big black eyes of the girl, her smile, the delicateness of her waist that can be guessed under her corset, everything catches the eye.

Someone whistles as she walks and the girl responds with an amused smile. When she's out of reach, a sailor chuckles.

"Oh, I'd love to make her scream..."

"Don't say that aloud," another sailor reply. "She's the governor's daughter."

"So what? A noble girl screams like a commoner when you fuck her.

"And if an officer hears you saying that, you'll clean the bridge 'til the end of days."

The young woman and her escort disappear on the road leading to the governor's house, and everyone goes back to their task. Everyone except one man. There's a fever in his eyes.

On his ship, Captain Norrington follows the girl until she disappears, then stares at her shadow with the same intensity and finally at the ground where she walked. He does not even pay attention to the man - or is it a woman? - who, sitting on the deck, stares at him with golden eyes.

He/she wears a uniform that emphasizes the perfection of his/her body. He/she smokes a long cigarette of a kind that will only be invented in three hundred years and swallows the smoke with a predatory smile as he/she watches Norrington.

"Yes," murmurs the being with a voice soft as velvet. "Watch her go. You want her... but how much do you want her?"

Norrington's fingers are so tight on the ship's rail that his knuckles are whitening. His eyes shine with desire and a need to possess. Desire's smile widens.

"Oh I would ...," Norrington whispers in a hoarse voice.

"What would you do? I can give her to you ... if I want to. If that amuses me. Would you like her in your bed tomorrow, quivering under your body?"

"Tomorrow, this night, now," shivers the captain.

He doesn't know that Desire is there, that he/she moved behind him with a caressing gesture. He can only get intoxicated by the scent of sex, alcohol, blood and honey that follow the Endless. He does not hear or see Desire, but he's filled with his/her presence and can hear his/her questions. But he thinks they come from himself. He's right, and he's wrong.

Desire, after all, is a part of every man and every woman.

"Tonight," Desire repeat mockingly. "Ask me, ask me."

"No. No," Norrington replies, mopping the face of his forehead. "Soon. Soon. I'll be made a commodore, and then I can ask her hand."

Desire grimaces like a child who is deprived of a toy.

"That Christian morality!" He/she pities. "Oh, how it complicates everything ... And still, it makes everything funnier. You hate yourselves to desire, and you desire even more because of that.

He/she watches the captain return to his maps and letters. He/she can almost feel his thoughts, all the lust that can't leave the man's mind. Suddenly, Desire frowns, feeling something else.

"You do not want to have her now," he/she smiles as he/she solves the puzzle. "You want this waiting, this uncertainty. You love that you don't know if you'll see her twist and cry in your arms. You want to imagine what she would do, knowing that she may belong to another one day."

Norrington jumps, surprised and embarrassed to see himself thus laid bare. He doesn't hear Desire's crystalline laugh as the Endless gently kiss him.

"Very well, he/she murmurs. "Let's see where your desire will lead you."

  


_Second act_

Desire is having fun. Humans are pathetic with their small passions and toys in his/her hands. However, some of them, like Norrington, are more fun than others. The former Commodore is one of those rare men who know their desires and embraces them, even when they are so full of contradictions.

He wants Elizabeth, free and wild, knowing that if she's that woman, he'll never be able to keep her. He dreams of having her naked in his bed, giving and taking all she's got but wants to chain her in marriage and in a room she would never go out. He wants his honour pure and spotless but is ready for the worst betrayals to have this woman. He would sell Elizabeth to recover his honour then throw it away for a look of his beloved.

Sooner or later, he will have to make a choice, and it will destroy him. In the meantime, Desire is having fun. The Endless have been closely following Norrington's actions and thoughts for almost five years, and it never gets boring. For him/her, whose interest is quickly gone, it is rare and nice to see such a fun show.

And after all, there are unexpected surprises and amusements for Desire as he/she follows him. The Pirates. Desire is sure that her brothers and sisters all think that they belong to them. Destruction is their daily life. They dream of grandeur and infinite treasures. Jack Sparrow bears the mark of Delirium's madness, and all his crew follow him in his madness, happily screaming. Yet it is to him/her that they really belong.

The compass is the other advantage of having followed Norrington to Tortuga's filth - not that Desire complains, Tortuga has always been part of his/her domain after all -. Desire is not linked to the compass as Dream let himself be tied to his helmet, his ruby and his bag, however, he/she created the object and seeing it come back to him/her is ... pleasant. The compass reveals the deepest desires and exacerbates them without any of the humans aboard the ship noticing.  
Desire drinks the sea air and these ephemeral creatures' desires. He/she smells the sexual desire radiating from Norrington, Elizabeth and Jack, the most obvious on the small boat that sails towards a buried heart. These desires smell like shame and buried violence. Add to this the insatiable craving for treasures and fortunes. The basely material desire for food and drink. Ah, how much rum feeds the calls of humanity to the Endless ... Ambition, jealousy, passion, all that feeds and intoxicates Desire.

On the deck of the ship, the Endless laughs and dances.

He/she laughs and dances on the beach while Norrington, Jack and Will fight for the chest, for their freedom, their honour, their family, for Elizabeth and, ultimately, for him/her. Their desire beats faster than Davy Jones' heart in his wooden chest. And even the organ rejected by its owner contains the Flying Dutch captain's insatiable desire for the sea in all its magnificence.

When Norrington pulls out his heart and chooses ambition over love, Desire applauds. He/she loves a beautiful tragedy, and he/she already knows that the third act will be perfect.

  


_Third act_

In his cabin aboard the flying Dutchman, admiral Norrington looks at his reflection in the mirror and decides he doesn't like what he sees there. When he was young, he dreamed of that title and that uniform. A high rank, a good pay, a sweet supporting wife, a son, maybe even a charming mistress and a house in London.

Today, he is closer to his goal than ever before. He has the rank, and there are even more opportunities for advancement. He should be happy.

"So why are you not?" He wonders, echoing Desire's voice, who is whispering in his ear, caressing his face.

"Because of Elizabeth, of course", answers the Endless, and he agrees. "Sweet and violent Elizabeth with her face covered with blood and sweat. Is it not fascinating that you want her as much as the first day you saw her?"

In front of his mirror, Norrington sobs like a child. That's the only answer Desire needs. That's what he/she prefers with humans. To see them all desire and never have the object of their attention is a show that will never lose its appeal.

"You could have asked me," Desire added with sick pleasure. "You could have said "I want her tonight, willing and loving" and, who knows, I could have given her to you. But no. She had to come in her time, and you lost her. And if she came, you would have rejected the next day because you would have spoiled her. Sometimes, the shame is sweeter than the desire. Humans will never stop being fools."

"No!"  
Norrington destroys the mirror and with one shoulder blow escapes from the grasp of the Endless. Desire stays there for a moment, confused. However, contrary to what he/she believed, the admiral did not detect his/her presence. He seizes his sword and pistol, which he left on his bed and storm out of the room.

Desire could have applauded with childish joy. Instead, he/she lights a cigarette slowly and swallows its smoke.

"And now, the outcome, he/she murmurs with a radiant smile.

Following Norrington, Desire goes in the hold of the Flying Dutchman and watches him release the living crew. The Endless smiles, taking pleasure in the anticipation. The denouement, the one he/she has sensed from the beginning. Norrington has too many desires in him, and he cannot drive them away forever. He helps Elizabeth and, if his mouth stays quiet, his heart and body scream to the woman that she must be his and his alone. Soon they are the last on the Flying Dutchman, watching the crew escaping to the Black Pearl. Desire settles comfortably to admire the scene. It's his/her work, and it's a work of art.

Elizabeth stares at Norrington with disgust and rejects him. Desire is waiting for the moment when the admiral's sword will sink into the belly or heart of the young woman. The Endless bet on the heart. Even driven by jealousy and desire, the man is too weak to give a slow death to the woman who has been killing him slowly for years.

Why does he not move?

He lets her go. Desire cannot believe it. Norrington protects the beautiful pirate and begs her - begs her! - to leave without him. Yet Desire feels Norrington's ferocious desire to embrace her, to possess her. To throw her on the ground and to take her there, on the bridge, with frenzy, even if the cursed crew could surprise them in the orgasm and kill them. But even when he kisses her, it's not to steal what she has always denied him. He only wants to take that memory with him.  
Norrington lets Elizabeth leave his life one last time. Even more, he forces her to do so. For the first time in years, he feels free and happy. That's how he loves Elizabeth, he said to himself as his heart sinks. Free, brave, ready to come back for him even though she loves another. He is relieved to see her go because, with her, the daydreams that he could never make stop can disappear too. He just did not want her to see him die. She does not deserve that. He does not deserve to die or live with her by his side.

Desire watches him defy death and Davy Jones one last time without showing any signs of sorrow. A flapping sound of wings echoes in the air and his/her sister appears.

"Poor soul," Death murmurs, caressing Norrington's face with more gentleness and love than Desire has ever shown.

"Do what you want my sister. He has not amused me for a long time."

Death smiles.

"You do not like it when someone escapes your games, my brother/sister."

"He belonged to me! I held him in the palm of my hand, and he betrayed me!"

"They only belong to themselves. They just go from one of our domains to another. Is love so foreign to you that you do not understand that it can surpass your power?"

Desire does not answer and turns away. On the floor, Norrington stands up and watches Death's smile greet him in the afterlife. He sighs, and exhaustion suddenly leaves him, leaving him stronger and calmer than ever.

"I am ready madam", he bows, without showing the slightest sign of fear even though he recognizes her.

He then glances at Desire and cannot hold back a chill of fear. He feels in the Endless the personification of the desires that have always controlled him. They were a weakness. Desire frighten him as much as the presence of Death reassured him. The latter takes his arm, and together they pass the door of the kingdom of the dead. Desire hears a fragment of their conversation before they disappear.

"I could have been so much more …"

"But you would have been so much less without those desires," Death answers. "They weren't your fall, they made you a good man, in the end. "

Desire gives a snort of contempt. He/she ignores the forgotten corpse of the admiral and drift, looking for another toy.


End file.
